Dry Creek Bed

Photo by Matt Palmer on Unsplash

Although we have (so far) been spared the worst effects, climate change is definitely evident where I live. You can see it in the dried up creeks.

On the flat rock by the creek,

just enough space for us to sit together

dangle our feet over the dry creek bed--

I lay my head on your shoulder

(exactly as nice as I thought it would feel)

We comfort each other over this changed place,

this glimpse into the end of water.

Dusty gray stones,

mud around them, hardening

into thick Kentucky clay.

Water used to slip over these stones

on its way to the river, the ocean, the infinite.

We lean into each other as a man walks

over dry stones in this dying creek bed

phone pressed to his ear talking about the thing

he never did and never meant to do

thinking that the ease of the walk makes up for the loss of the water--

That dry shoes mean more than dry plants

choked by the thick Kentucky clay.

A boy follows, scans the bottom of the creek bed

for life that he can witness, witnessing him.